


they moved forward, my heart died

by adelaidebabe (soulless_slut)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Ace Bellamy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aro Clarke, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Insomnia, Queerplatonic Relationships, Smitten Bellamy, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5802376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulless_slut/pseuds/adelaidebabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bellamy and Clarke have been doing this <em>thing</em> for a while now. This sex thing. A friends with benefits thing."<br/>-<br/>or; ace Bellamy just wants to be close to Clarke and he'll take what he can get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they moved forward, my heart died

**Author's Note:**

> (title is from dead hearts by stars & this is unbeta'd)  
> bellamy blake is ace and that's all i have to say.

Bellamy and Clarke have been doing this _thing_ for a while now. This sex thing. A friends with benefits thing. And Bellamy likes to believe he’s decent at sex, mostly because everyone else he’s ever had sex with is _very_ complimentary. So if he’s pretty decent at sex, then Clarke probably won’t leave him to have sex with someone else, and he’ll have this. He’ll have Clarke.

Kind of.

Bellamy sighs. He’s trying not to feel too creepy, watching Clarke sleep. She had entered his apartment earlier without knocking, instantly tossing her stuff—jacket and scarf—onto his couch before grabbing him and kissing him. Hard. Bellamy knew something was wrong— _still_ knows something _is_ wrong—but talking isn’t really part of their relationship. Sex is. So they moved their party to Bellamy’s room, and he tried to ignore the fact that she was quieter than he’s ever seen her.

Now he’s just staring at her while she sleeps, wondering what’s wrong and how he can help.

It’s not like he can sleep; he already tried. But all he can think about is Clarke, and how he can’t sleep because if he sleeps and she wakes up before him, she’ll leave without waking him and he’d never find out if she was okay. The next time he would see her would most likely be with his sister and all of their friends, and he would never be able to ask her there.

Bellamy sighs again before carefully extracting himself from the blanket and his bed, hoping not to wake Clarke. When he succeeds, he looks for his boxers before pulling them on, along with a shirt. He looks again at Clarke, then leaves his room to go to the kitchen. He pours himself water, but just stares at it instead of drinking it.

He knows he needs to have an open, honest conversation with Clarke. Get all of his cards on the table. He just doesn’t know _how_. His big, bad secret is one that literally no one knows, not even Octavia. He always figured his sister didn’t need to know anything about his sex life.

Bellamy pours the water into the sink and sets the glass down. He fumbles around in the kitchen a bit more, not really sure what he’s trying to delay. Eventually, he goes back to his room. He gets back into the bed, as carefully as possible, after tossing his shirt back onto the floor. He’s propped up on his elbow, watching Clarke sleep again.

Maybe this is what he was trying to delay.

He brushes hair off of Clarke’s face and then lightly skims his finger down her cheek. She doesn’t move. He tries to figure out what he would say. “I know we’ve been doing this whole sex thing for a while, but the thing is: I’m asexual. I’m not sex repulsed, but to be honest, sex isn’t one of my favorite activities. Also I’m sort of in love with you and didn’t know how to tell you. Thoughts?”

Yeah. Right.

Bellamy flops back and sighs yet again. Maybe he should just try to sleep anyway. So what if Clarke leaves without waking him up? So what if he never finds out what was wrong? It’s not like he would’ve asked her anyway. He can’t even tell her the truth, let alone be brave enough to ask her a question he doesn’t think she’d answer.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He has a paper on the Library of Alexandria due in less than a week. That should be where his focus is, his classes should be where his focus is. Instead it’s Clarke. It’s always Clarke.

Bellamy sits up, feet on floor, back to Clarke. While he’s debating leaving to watch TV or read or work on his paper or _anything_ , Clarke starts shifting and lets out a low, quiet hum. Bellamy freezes, hoping it’s just her moving while still asleep, but then she hums again and says, “Bellamy?” her voice raspy and quiet.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, and it sounds so much louder than her voice that he winces. He glances over his shoulder at her and notes that she’s now on her back, stretching.

“You’re awake?”

“Can’t sleep.”

Clarke hums again. She sighs, not unhappily, and Bellamy can hear her shifting to sit up against his headboard. “You should go back to sleep, Clarke,” he says.

“You should tell me why you can’t sleep, Bellamy.”

He turns slightly to look at her; her arms are crossed, her hair is mess, and her eyes look tired. But she doesn’t look mad or even annoyed. If Bellamy were feeling generous, he’d say she looks borderline content. But he’s not, so he can’t. “It’s not anything that matters,” Bellamy says. “Unlike you sleeping, that matters.”

Clarke shrugs and says, “I can sleep later.”

He almost laughs at that and looks away from her. He puts his head in his hands and makes a decision. It just takes Clarke saying, “Bellamy,” again for him to voice it.

“I’ll tell you why I can’t sleep if you tell me why you were upset earlier.”

There’s a pause and a silence, and Bellamy wonders how much he fucked up. He’s ready to apologize and drop it, but when he opens his mouth, he doesn’t say anything. He waits. He wants to know. And if Clarke won’t tell him, well, then he wouldn’t want to tell her why he can’t sleep. This is something he needs to know, suddenly; he needs to know how deep their friendship is—how deep their relationship is. Is it an ocean or the shallow pool at water parks? Because Bellamy knows what he’s always thought; now he needs to know what Clarke thinks.

The silence continues and it feels like it’s been eons. Bellamy gets off the bed and walks out, which seems to break Clarke of her silence. “Bellamy, wait,” she says, but he keeps going. He stops when he gets to the kitchen, unsure of what his point was by leaving. Or where he even wanted to go. He goes over to the island and turns to stare at the glass he used earlier, feeling like an idiot.

He hears Clarke’s footfalls coming from his bedroom and decides to sit himself on the countertop. It’s his kitchen, his island, his countertop; if he wants to put his ass on it and clean it later, he can. He doesn’t look at Clarke when he hears her stop, just continues to stare at the glass. He idly wonders if she pulled any clothes on.

Her footsteps are quieter as she walks over to him, possibly trying to get into his line of vision. So he looks at her and shrugs.

She didn’t put anything on. And he feels like that should mean something, something about trust or comfort. Or just body confidence. Hell, he pulled on his boxers and a shirt, and she wasn’t even awake for that.

He sees her swallows and knows she’s gearing up for something. So he lets her gather it.

“My mom stopped for a surprise visit and told me that even though she loved me, she wished I had done something sensible and finished my medical degree,” Clarke says. “And seeing her is great because I miss her, but I wish….” She trails off, thinking.

“You wish she didn’t ruin it,” Bellamy finishes.

Clarke faintly smiles, but it’s not with real happiness. “Yeah. She always ruins it.” After a pause, she says, “I’m sorry. I used you earlier so as to not think about my mom and that’s not okay.”

“Well, that’s the nature of the friends with benefits agreement, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t say anything, just looks at him as if she’s trying to judge how serious he is. “It still wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

They don’t say anything for a while after that, and Bellamy wonders if he’s going to get out of having to say what’s on his mind. Because as great as entertaining the idea is, he’d still rather not say anything. Not just because of the possibility of ruining everything, but because the asexual thing is a secret he’s kept close to himself for so long that the thought of telling someone is horrifying. Terrifying. And Bellamy doesn’t like admitting to being scared.

He watches as Clarke gets a glass from a cupboard and fills it with water. He watches as she slowly sips at it, and wishes that this moment would end. But he thinks she’s waiting for him. And because she doesn’t push or leave, he knows that she’s miles more patient than he is.

He thinks, _I love you_ , but is careful not to say it. Soon, though, she might know anyway.

Clarke sets down the glass. She’s still waiting and Bellamy doesn’t know how to start. “I have to tell you something,” he says.

“So it’s serious, then?” Clarke asks.

He thinks, _I guess_ , but only shrugs. He pauses. He doesn’t have any clue as to how to open this conversation. Or even how to just say the words, I’m asexual. Does he explain it first? After? Does she even need him to explain it? She’s bisexual, it’s possible Clarke already came across the term and knows what it means.

But what if she doesn’t? What if she only came across a bullshit definition, and didn’t bother to fact check? So he tells her. Then she tells him he’s fucking weird and leaves.

Does the asexual topic even come first? Or the love topic? Should he save the love topic for another day? Another century?

Bellamy’s head is racing and he has no idea how to start this conversation.

So he says, no preamble, “We’ve had a lot of sex.”

Clarke’s face barely moves, but Bellamy can see the faint surprise. “Yes.”

“But what if—what if I tell you I’m.” He stops. Breathes in. “I’m asexual.”

Now Clarke’s face fully shifts to surprise. “Oh,” she says. Bellamy waits for her to work it out, and is about to ask her if she knows what that means when she says, “Why didn’t you say something before?”

He’s not prepared to answer that. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an answer, just that he didn’t think he would have to answer that question. He figured Clarke would react, and that would be that. Not that she’d want to talk about it.

“Bellamy?” Clarke asks, and he knows she’s going to keep expecting an answer.

He shrugs. “I don’t think I knew how.” It’s true, and it’s honest, but he’s not sure if she’ll accept it. Bellamy hopes so because it’s the only answer he has.

Clarke stays silent, but Bellamy knows it’s a thinking silence, not a judgmental silence. “You thought about it more than usual tonight?” she says.

“Why do you ask that?”

“You couldn’t sleep earlier.”

Bellamy stops himself from vocalizing his, _Oh_. “Yeah. Tonight it was on my mind more so than usual.”

“Because I was upset?”

He’s beginning to feel like he’s in an interrogation. Maybe Clarke’s mom should have pushed for her daughter to be a cop. “I guess so,” he says. He tries to laugh, joke, and adds, “What, is tonight honesty night?”

Clarke replies, “Yes,” very seriously, and Bellamy wonders what can of worms he accidentally opened. “In fact, I need to tell you something.”

Despite himself, Bellamy feels his heart beat just a little bit faster. And before Clarke can say what she needs to, Bellamy blurts out, “I’m in love with you.”

Well.

Shit.

By Clarke’s shocked expression, that confession was not something she was expecting to hear.

So Bellamy tacks on, “I think,” because he’s a master at communication.

Clarke breathes deep. “Bellamy, I’m aromantic.” She opens her mouth, as if to say more, but then just looks at him, helpless.

This time, his, “Oh,” does escape him. He thinks, _Well, isn’t this a situation_ , but doesn’t know what to say.

After a long moment, during which Bellamy thought Clarke might just leave, Clarke says, “How asexual are you?”

He knows he has to look confused when he says, “How asexual am I?”

Clarke makes some gesture with her hand. “I mean…. Besides the lack of sexual attraction. Do you even like sex?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Sometimes, sort of.” He pauses. “Mostly, I just like that you enjoy it,” he says, and feels a strong wave of embarrassment wash over him. How the hell did those words actually come out of his mouth?

Clarke’s mouth twitches. He can only imagine what’s going through her mind. _That’s sweet_ , and, _That’s fucking weird_ , and everything in between.

But then she full out laughs and says, “I do enjoy it.” Meaning her thoughts were probably more along the lines of, _That’s weirdly sweet_.

Bellamy glances at the clock on his stove and is only a little surprised that it’s not as late as he thought. “I’ll add that to my box of compliments,” he says.

Clarke sighs. “My turn, right?” She clicks her tongue as she organizes her thoughts, and then says, “I’m not romance-repulsed. Not completely. And displays of affection don’t turn my stomach all the time. Just...some days.”

Bellamy’s not sure what’s going on. It sounds like Clarke is almost offering a relationship. Between them. “I don’t understand,” he says, and Clarke just looks at him, ready to answer his questions. “You’re aromantic.”

She nods. “I’m aromantic.”

Now it’s Bellamy’s turn to look helpless.

Clarke smiles. “So, what? You just found out about asexuality and stopped looking?” Bellamy doesn’t answer, though Clarke pauses as though she’s waiting for him to. “There’s a type of relationship called queerplatonic. It’s like this middle level between friendship and an actual relationship. We establish boundaries, expectations, and go from there.”

A lightbulb goes off in Bellamy’s head. “Quasiplatonic,” he says.

“Exactly.”

“So you’ll let me know when more romance oriented actions aren’t appreciated?”

“And what actions are acceptable to begin with,” Clarke says. “You will be more honest about sex, and how you’re feeling.” She pauses. “Okay?”

Something akin to happiness blooms in Bellamy’s heart, though he’d probably deny even feeling it. “Okay,” he says. And they go from there.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @ [lydiacora](http://lydiacora.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
